


we spark and fade, they die by threes

by ElasticElla



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: (valentine), Blood and Gore, Dark, F/F, Femslash February, Implied/Referenced Torture, Post Episode: s02e08 Love is a Devil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 05:54:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9979310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElasticElla/pseuds/ElasticElla
Summary: “How did you-,” Clary starts, changing her mind. “I’m not creating an army.”Camille’s grin is sharp, “You said the word not me. Besides, you have a little smudge of vengeance on your chin.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> title from mcr's our lady of sorrows  
> for the ficathon, [go prompt/play/fill](http://ladygawain.livejournal.com/83816.html)

Simon says no. She expected that really, him insisting there was still time and he’d turn her as a last resort- but only that. And it’s sweet that Simon wants to keep her a shadowhunter if possible, knows it’s one of the last things linking her to her mother. But her plan won’t work like that. (He promises not to tell Jace or Maia, but Clary knows he won’t keep it from his lovers for long- he’s far too good a person, will ask them for alternative options. But she only needs tonight.)

Clary doesn’t tell him she thinks this might be the answer- that one with half pure angel and demon blood in their veins, the conflicting sides making her disintegrate with the sword. Jace said it was like nothing he’d ever seen, and Clary thinks maybe she could turn into that. There are no reports of the early shadowhunters becoming downworlders, and she can’t imagine angel blood just happily coexisting, not actively trying to eradicate itself. (There are seelies sure, but even seelies could be killed by the sword, by angelic might.) 

She’ll go to Magnus after, doesn’t want him to stop her. Even if it doesn’t work right, at least she won’t be able to power the sword. It’s a good plan, a solid plan. (Clary isn’t going to think about how she wouldn’t have gone for this plan before, how she would have been sure her mom would have another way, another-)

The jail break is disappointingly simple, a rune coming to her that knocks out fellow shadowhunters before they can even attack her. An angel is on her side, this must be the right decision. (But why would the angels want the sword destroyed- and Clary can’t think like that now, needs to be in the moment before this fails.) 

She frees all but two inmates, doesn’t want this traced back to her. Clary goes to Iris first, and the witch is not pleased to see her. 

“We have a blood oath! You’re supposed to be finding my daughter.” 

Clary shrugs, “Funny thing, I read up on blood oaths and they don’t transcend death.”

Iris’s anger drops, pleading replacing it quick, “Then let me go at least, so I can try to save her.” 

“You’ll stop forcing girls to- you’ll _stop_.” 

“Anything for Madzie.”

“If you break your promise, I won’t be returning you to the Clave,” Clary says, unlocking her door and hand cuffs. 

Iris squints, an odd look on her face, “The apple does not fall far from the tree it seems.” 

Clary ignores it, the part that wants to snap back only proves her point and she’s running out of time as she goes to the last cell. 

“Darling, have you come to gloat? To free everyone but little old me?” Camille asks, sauntering up to the bars. 

It’d be easier if she were ugly, if there was no history between them. But Clary can’t trust a random vampire not to go to Raphael or not to kill her and gods, how did this become her life.

“Rub some salt in the wound for that little boytoy of yours?” 

Clary’s eyes flash, and Camille laughs. “Oh, I seem to have touched a nerve there. Loverboy finally move on from you?” 

“If I free you, you’ll give me safe shelter and turn me,” Clary says. 

Camille’s eyes wander over her, her gaze slow and nearly tangible. “I’ll even teach you how to be a vampire.” 

Clary swallows down that it won’t be necessary, jerkily nodding as she sets her free. They escape into the night before any of the guards awaken, and just like that, Clary Fray pulls off the largest jail break in shadowhunter history. She isn’t thinking about that though, or of those she freed who did or didn’t deserve to be there. 

Camille brings her to a surprisingly modest apartment in New York, far from her old hotel and the institute. They sit in the kitchen, and Clary tries not to think about all the bad jokes Maureen and Simon would make if they were here. 

“You’re worried,” Camille drawls, rolling her eyes. “Stop that, it’s boring. Everyone you freed tonight owes you a debt little shadowhunter, they won’t speak your name.” 

“I’m not,” Clary says, but it sounds false to her own ears, and she doesn’t want to get into a possible apocalypse. 

“Quite clever of you, your new connections would all love Valentine dead.”

“How did you-,” Clary starts, changing her mind. “I’m not creating an army.” 

Camille’s grin is sharp, “You said the word not me. Besides, you have a little smudge of vengeance on your chin.” 

“Whatever, I need you to turn me,” Clary says. 

“So soon? No last human things you wish to do, perhaps eat a-”

“Tonight Camille,” Clary cuts her off. 

Her eyes narrow, fingernails clicking on the marble counter, “Very well. But you will tell me after, I want to know how many will be searching for my safe house.” 

Clary pauses, “But they won’t find it right?” 

“No, the warlock who made my wards is dead,” Camille says, and Clary ignores the suspicion as to how that may have happened. “Come to the couch, no need for you to bleed on the floor.” 

“Hate to do that,” Clary mumbles, trying not to look at the picture Camille makes. It’s too intimate and domestic, which is ridiculous to even think, she’d be living- unliving, fuck- here soon. 

Camille is curled up on one end of the couch, feet tucked beneath her, and Clary hesitates. “Here,” Camille says, patting the spot before her, “you’ll lay back into me.” 

Clary does that, nerves jittery even though she wants this, needs it to happen. It’s just _death_ , she’s literally going to die tonight, and the air itself feels heavier in her lungs. 

“Easy,” Camille purrs, maneuvering them so Clary’s back is to her chest, and her lips are by her ear. “Would you like me to put you under?” 

“No,” Clary says, focusing on the cool body around her. “I’m good. Start.” 

Camille’s body shivers beneath her, a soft laugh cascading into her hair, and then her teeth are in her neck, and Clary isn’t thinking about anything but pleasure. It’s completely overwhelming, her entire focus sharpened and on her neck, she can feel every centimeter Camille’s fangs glide into her. Fire spreads from her neck, riding her bloodstream, and no matter how she sweats, she _burns_. Orgasms crash through her, and Clary barely notices their pleasure or echoes, Camille’s lips consuming her. 

It calms suddenly, Camille licking her neck instead of sucking, the fire in her veins quiets down to a slow simmer. 

“You taste impossible little shadowhunter,” Camille says, nicking her wrist open and holding it before Clary’s mouth. “I wonder what you’ll turn into.” 

Clary goes for her wrist instead of an answer, high enough that she doesn’t taste what she’s drinking down. Camille’s hands move to her throat and she knows no more. 

.

Clary awakens slowly, is tempted to sleep much longer. Like this, she imagines she could sleep forever- and with that one word, her memory clicks into place, and she’s digging up, loose soil shifting easily. There are arms waiting for her once she breaks above ground, taking a deep breath. 

“Easy darling,” she purrs, “I’ve got you.” 

There’s an unconscious person before her, and Clary’s _starving_ can’t help but rip into their neck, drinking until she’s sated. The person falls, not one heartbeat between them, and reality comes rushing back with a dizzying lucidity. 

“Oh Clary,” Camille sighs, “we’ll have to work on that.” 

Clary tries to back away, horror and revulsion rising in her throat, but Camille’s iron behind her, holds her still. She turns around instead, angrily wiping at her face, blood and tears mixing. 

“Why did you do that? You made me kill them!” Clary yells in her face, and Camille finally backs away, giving her space with rolled eyes. 

“You’ve killed before,” Camille says. 

Clary swallows, trying to organize her thoughts, pushing down the anger. Camille walks her back inside, and Clary notices that Camille buried her in a vegetable garden. Well, former vegetable garden, it’s been completely destroyed and has bits of torn tomatoes everywhere. 

“Not when I could avoid it,” she finally says, “and that was avoidable.” 

Camille laughs, “Untrue on both accounts darling. But the one that matters is your training- you need to be able to stop yourself when you’re feeding on a mundane.” 

Clary crosses her arms, following Camille into the elevator. “I’m not going to be feeding on any humans.”

Camille lifts and drops a shoulder, “Accidents happen. If you want those to have only a bit of blood loss, you’ll learn how to control your drinking.” 

She has a point unfortunately, and Clary looks down at her bare arms. There’s dirt smudged on them of course, but all the runes are gone. For all the times they caught her on unawares, her arms look blank like this, lacking. Camille brings her to another living room, places her in front of a full length mirror and Clary wonders if it’s a common reaction to turning. 

It didn’t work. 

Clary looks impossibly the same, and her blood certainly isn’t fighting itself to the point of disfiguring her. Her skin is a little paler, or perhaps just looks that way compared to Camille. The older vampire appears over her shoulder, brushes her hair to one side.

“Not what you were hoping for?”

“It was supposed to turn me into a new demon.” 

Camille’s fingers drift down her sides, “And what was it supposed to do to me?” 

Clary flushes, hadn’t thought of that.

She doesn’t wait on a verbal answer, nails skimming up Clary’s bare arms. “Lucky for you, there’s an old legend about one of the first vampires drinking an angel’s blood.”

“There is?” Clary asks.

The sun rises then, light streaming through the open window, heavy curtains drawn. It’s on her skin before Clary remembers to be afraid, but it doesn’t burn, only a soft warm tingle. 

“True immortality,” Camille says. Continuing in a less serious tone she says, “Not that I plan on testing the other ways.” 

Clary turns around, can’t believe Camille just risked their lives like that- but there’s shade a step behind her. Camille’s arms distract her again, she’s losing count of how often she’s ended up in them over the past however many hours it’s been. Her touch is comforting beyond reason, and Clary reaches for her hate, thinks back upon the things she did to Simon. Only it feels like it belongs to another person, muted and shallower still when she thinks of Valentine. 

“I need you to teach me how to kill a shadowhunter,” Clary says. 

Camille’s fingers ghost down her jaw, a pleased smile on her lips. “You’re going to be a fun one.” 

Clary’s eyes narrow, “I need-”

Camille pushes her jaw shut, the rest of her words distorted. She doesn’t look angry or upset, casually brings her other hand up to pet her cheek. 

“I heard you.” Camille says, “We have an eternity, time does not rule us.”

Her hands stay for a few long moments, and Clary doesn’t have time for this- or _fine_ she does, but the others don’t. 

“I’ll be on the balcony, fetch us something to drink,” she says, dropping her hands and gliding away. 

Clary is about to complain, but she has a sudden suspicion that Camille will just shrug her off and compel them a human. After trying four different cupboards, she finds the glasses, splits a bag of blood from the fridge between them. Camille is basking in the sun, and Clary supposes if she’d gone however many hundreds of years without sunlight, she’d be sprawled out too. 

“Valentine has tons of people- downworlders- held hostage. They might not have time,” Clary says, setting the glasses down. 

Camille doesn’t even blink, taking hers and leaning back into the chair. “How did you escape him?”

“Dot helped me, but there wasn’t enough time-” 

“You abandoned her.”

“I had to get out!” 

“She’s probably dead for helping you,” Camille says, eyes on hers.

“No! Dot’s too smart, he wouldn’t kill her,” Clary says, the words she’s been repeating since she jumped and there was no echoing splash. 

“You mean useful.” Camille’s laugh is icy, sends chills down her spine. “Then he’s been torturing and abusing her, she very well may wish for death’s sweet embrace.” 

Clary crosses her arms tight, “How do I kill him?” 

“Shadowhunters are a tricky kill when they’re unsuspecting, much less when they’re at war. You need to accept the many you will condemn to death or worse in pursuing your vendetta.” 

Clary shakes her head quickly, “No- I, I need as few people as possible involved and as quickly as possible.” 

Camille swirls her glass, “You get speed or efficiency, not both.” 

“What about all the people this will save?” Clary asks, “It has to be worth it.” 

“Justify it however you want darling. We both know you aren’t going in there just to save them, or you wouldn’t ask how to kill but to evade.” 

Clary takes a deep breath, unnecessary, she can’t help but think. Camille’s words paint an ugly picture she’d been trying to avoid; her mother would have wanted to save them first- Luke too.

“Okay,” she says. “How?” 

Camille’s smile is slow, “We start with those you freed.”

Clary reaches for her glass, swallows thickly. “And then?” 

“And then we visit the faeries.” 

.

It takes two weeks. It’s longer than she wanted, but still faster than she believed possible. Two weeks, and she had a small army and a Seelie queen willing to maneuver a portal for her. Meliorn is the one who does it, tells her this time he believes she can succeed. 

Clary rips open Valentine’s throat with her new teeth, spits out his blood. 

“Clarissa, please-” he begs, and it strikes her as pathetic. That after all he did, all he destroyed, he still feared it. 

“Clarissa is dead,” she whispers, and she squeezes his slippery bloody throat until his heartbeat stops. It’s a beautiful silence, only marred from the mayhem outside. 

Camille comes in then, surveys her work with a smile. “Let’s go home, the Clave will be here soon and Magnus can only turn a blind eye for so long.” 

“They’re alive?” Clary asks as they speed away, “The downworlders he held?” 

“Most of them, Magnus was portaling them to various healers.” 

“Good,” Clary says as they get home, and Camille lounges on the couch. It feels like the first night almost, another turning point, but this time Clary knows how to join her. She slips into her lap, hands on her shoulders. 

“Your friends are safe,” Camille says abruptly. “They’re still worried about you.” 

Clary’s lips twitch, “They’ll know soon enough, once I’ve sorted the Clave out.”

Camille relaxes at that, her hands grounding Clary’s waist. “Alright, darling.”

And Clary kisses her, possibilities thick on her tongue.


End file.
